Flight of the Raven

by Judith Sterling

“One that will serve us well during your nuptials,” Robert replied.

  William’s black eyes narrowed. “We must present a strong, united front, not only to Ravenwood’s people, but to a certain honored guest.”

  “Your new neighbor?”

  William clasped the geometrically patterned hilt of his double-edged sword. “Precisely.”

  “Aldred the Merciless,” Robert hissed. “I confess I’d hoped never to meet him. ’Tis a miracle we avoided him in the Holy Land.”

  “We were too busy storming Jerusalem,” William said.

  Robert adjusted his mantle, which perfectly matched his steel gray eyes. “And what of his younger brother?”

  “Wulfstan? There are rumors of sorcery. ’Tis even said his moods control the weather.”

  Robert chuckled. “Do you suppose he’s nearby? Fog this thick could mean only one thing.”

  “That his temper matches his brother’s?”

  “You read my mind.”

  “I’d rather read my neighbors’.”

  Robert sobered. “Or it could mean treachery.”

  “We may know on the morrow.” William shrugged beneath the familiar weight of his mail. “Our guests should reach Ravenwood by noon.”

  “Your spies are thorough.”

  William stared hard into the unfathomable mist. Aye, he thought. My scouts have a talent for detail, but there is one question they cannot answer.

  “Lady Emma,” he murmured. Her name felt strange on his lips, like the whispering desert winds that stirred the fragrant, exotic spices of the East. Will you warm my bed without a struggle? Will you give me sons?

  “William?” said Robert.

  William blinked and turned to his brother.

  “Your silence is deafening,” Robert said. “What are your thoughts?”

  “That I’ll finally have land and a dynasty to inherit it.”

  “My desires course that same river, but what of love? The bards sing—”

  “They sing of tripe!”

  Thunder sensed his master’s mood and reared again. William asserted his authority, and the stallion instantly obeyed.

  “Lady Emma might disagree,” Robert said. “She’s young enough to believe in romantic verse.”

  “She’s nearly twenty,” William responded.

  “Then she can hardly object to a bridegroom who’s twelve years her senior.”

  “She has no choice in the matter.”

  Robert fell silent, but his lips twitched.

  A shadow loomed in William’s memory. “Come, my bride awaits me.” He spurred Thunder into a gallop as though the Devil clawed at his heels.

  Not long afterward, he brought Thunder to a trot and peered into the distance. Alongside him, Robert slowed his own warhorse.

  “Finally,” said Robert, “the fog is lifting.”

  William’s gaze was riveted by a towering shape seemingly condensed from the retreating mist. Perched on a tall hill, Ravenwood Keep rose four floors above its basement storerooms. Each of its four corners boasted a tower, and the walls shone white from a recent application of lime. A high, stone curtain wall surrounded the keep at a distance of forty yards and looked down on a broad, deep moat.

  “Impressive,” said Robert. “The masons who built it must’ve been Norman or at least inspired by Norman design.”

  “And this is only one of Lady Emma’s holdings,” William said.

  Robert grinned. “Soon to be your holdings.”

  William nodded. The castle looked impregnable, but he’d conduct a thorough inspection anon. Once Ravenwood was secure, he’d see to the other manors.

  A sudden movement caught his eye. Atop the gatehouse, a single raven watched their approach with seeming interest. Its wings fluttered as a harsh, grating sound erupted from the portcullis below.

  “’Twould appear we’re welcome,” Robert said.

  The drawbridge lowered, and the brothers rode side by side across it. Countless times in and out of battle, they’d faced the unknown together. Today was no exception.

  The clop-clop of hooves on wood punctuated William’s every glance. His gaze darted from water to stone, alert to potential threats. Once inside the bailey, he reined in his destrier and searched again for any danger. He found none, only servants pausing in their work to study him. He cataloged their faces one by one. Some held fear; some, curiosity. But there was no hostility, until he looked toward the keep’s entrance.

  A woman in green emerged from the forebuilding’s shadowed archway. She froze at the head of the long, stone staircase that led to the bailey floor and fixed on William a glacial stare.

  “Do you suppose that’s Lady Emma?” Robert mused.

  William frowned. He wasn’t certain what he’d expected but surely not the cold brunette barring the entrance.

  “Well?” said Robert.

  With a sidelong glance, William muttered, “I’m about to find out.” He dismounted his warhorse in a quick motion perfected through years of combat. Then he spotted his squire among the throng of retainers. “Geoffrey!”

  A brown-haired, strapping lad of sixteen loped forward. “Sir?”

  “See to Thunder,” William ordered.

  “Aye, sir.” Geoffrey reached for the stallion’s reins.

  Swiftly, William turned and strode toward the keep. His fingers grazed the hilt of his sword as the statue on the stairs came to life. Her gaze glued to her feet, she descended to the bailey with slow, measured steps. At last, she lifted her head and met his stare.

  “Lady Emma?” he questioned.

  The maid’s eyes were as green as her tunic. “No,” she replied.

  When she offered nothing further, he asked, “And you are?”

  “Her cousin, Gertrude.”

  “I see.”

  Stubborn silence clung to the woman like odor to a cesspool.

  His jaw tightened. “Where is Lady Emma?”

  “I know not.”

  “She didn’t wish to greet me?”

  Gertrude shrugged.

  Heat pricked his skin. “Where did you last see her?”

  “In her bedchamber.”

  “And she said naught of her plans?”

  Gertrude scowled. “She doesn’t always consult me.”

  At that moment, a short, plump maidservant raced down the stairs. Her brown eyes were huge as they scanned him from head to toe. She dropped a quick curtsy, then whispered in Gertrude’s ear.

  William clenched his fists. “Who is this?”

  Gertrude’s eyes were now as wide as the servant’s. “Tilda,” she said. “Emma’s handmaiden.”

  Tilda curtsied again. “Sir,” she offered in a shaky voice.

  “What are you about, girl?” William asked.

  Tilda and Gertrude shared a nervous glance.

  “Speak up,” William ordered. “Have you news of your mistress?”

  The handmaiden gulped. “She’s gone, sir.”

  William stiffened. “What?”

  Tilda’s face flushed, and she wrung her hands. “Not gone forever. Just for a time.”

  “Where?” William snapped.

  “Half a mile in that direction,” Gertrude said, pointing, “at the top of the hill near the Long Wood. Look for the stone circle.”

  William nodded curtly, then spun on his heel. He stalked the short distance to his men.

  “Geoffrey!” he bellowed. “My horse!”

  The squire jumped aside as William vaulted into the saddle. Thunder reared, excited by the emotion surging through his master. William checked the stallion’s movements, willing Thunder in the direction of the gatehouse.

  “William!” Robert shouted above the clamor of soldiers, horses, and castle servants who now hurried back to work.

  William turned to him. “It seems my bride is reluctant after all.”

  “Was that gorgon in green your—”

  “No,” said William, “though I begin to doubt whether Lady Emma will prove any sweeter.”

&
nbsp; “So where is she?”

  “A half-mile hence.”

  Robert frowned. “Insupportable!”

  “Indeed,” said William, his heels poised to spur Thunder to action. “But willing or no, my bride shall learn some manners!”

  Chapter Two

  Emma’s vision unfurled. At first, she saw only mist. Its hue grew darker, richer, suffused with violet. Floating dreamlike, she backed away. The farther the distance, the clearer the shape. The violet mist became the iris of an eye; the eyes graced the face of a woman remembered not from life, but from vision. ’Twas her mother, Margaret, whose expression bespoke her fear more eloquently than words.

  The vision had always ended at this point, but now it continued. Emma drifted farther away from the image to glimpse her mother’s entire frame. Margaret’s delicate hands caressed her swollen belly; she was pregnant.

  Is this your warning, Mother? To remind me of the danger of childbirth?

  Margaret remained silent.

  Please, speak to me.

  Slowly, Margaret lifted a hand from her stomach and stretched out her arm. She pointed to something behind Emma.

  This is it, Emma thought as her dream-self began to turn.

  The sudden rumble of horse hooves yanked her from the trance. She blinked and gulped a breath of cool, damp air. Then she dropped her hands from the stones on either side.

  I was so close, she thought, shaking her head.

  “Lady Emma?” a deep, male voice snapped from behind.

  She spun around.

  At the edge of Woden’s Circle loomed a figure dark as midnight’s soul. The wind whipped the man’s sable, jaw-length hair into a frenzy about the smooth, hard lines of his clean-shaven face. His thick, black mantle was a living thing, swirling around his tall, imposing frame as though it fought to contain the raw masculinity within.

  Emma steeled herself. “Who wishes to know?” she asked, though her words were more bravado than question. He could be only one man.

  “Sir William l’Orage,” he said in a low, controlled voice.

  She shivered, then willed her body to cease its foolish reaction. “I am she.”

  William stood perfectly still for several long, excruciating seconds.

  She’d intended to approach him, but her feet remained rooted to the ground. She just stood there, returning his stare with equal intensity.

  He’s studying me, she thought, as if I were some citadel to which he might lay siege.

  Suddenly, he advanced toward her. Each step was powerful, potent. The closer he came, the stronger was his presence.

  He halted an arm’s length away, and she fancied his aura reached out to hers. His energy was virile, brimming with authority, and in a strange new way, attractive.

  “Did you forget my arrival today?” His voice was calm, but his clear, black eyes glistened with a darker emotion.

  She tore her gaze from his, then returned it an instant later. “I didn’t forget. I merely lost track of time.”

  “’Twas your duty to greet me, and you shall greet our guests in future.”

  She bristled. “I know my duty. You need not fear on that count.”

  “Nor any count,” he said. “I fear nothing.”

  Without warning, the shadow of the Ravenwood curse eclipsed her irritation, transforming an angry comeback into a wistful sigh. “How nice for you,” she said. “I would I shared that talent.”

  William seemed to consider her words. Then his black eyes thawed. “’Tis more experience than talent.”

  Emma wondered what he’d endured to chase away even the demons of hell. “I should’ve been there to greet you,” she said at last. “Forgive me.”

  His brow smoothed. “Of course.”

  She performed a tentative smile. “You found me in my favorite place.”

  “Thanks to your cousin.”

  “But how did she—”

  “Your handmaiden.”

  “Tilda.” Emma nodded. “I imagine the situation was awkward.”

  The picture of nonchalance, William folded his arms. “Quite.”

  A loud croak sliced the air amid a flutter of wings.

  Emma grinned. “Hremmas,” she said.

  William cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Ravens.” She gestured to the party of birds that shifted from stone to stone. “’Tis the Saxon word.”

  He nodded. Then he turned his head and stared into the shadowed forest.

  “You’ll find them always underfoot,” she said.

  “Hence the name of the estate.” He turned back to her.

  “Aye, so I hope you like them.”

  “As well as any creature.”

  Emma could think of nothing to say.

  William contemplated her for another long moment, then unfolded his arms. His hand skimmed the hilt of his sword.

  “Come,” he said. “Let’s return to the keep.”

  She hesitated, then stepped out of the stone doorway which had seemed a haven. A blast of cold air grabbed her cloak, and she felt even more vulnerable. The wind was now sharp and demanding.

  Pulling her mantle close about her, she walked beside her future husband. She accepted his silence and kept a comfortable distance between them.

  Outside the sacred circle, she paused. A black beast regarded her with giant eyes.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Thunder,” William answered.

  The warhorse neighed fiercely at the sound of his name.

  “It suits him,” Emma said, then in a wry tone added, “as he suits you.”

  William stopped abruptly, but she continued on toward the animal.

  “Good day to you, Thunder,” she cooed. She touched his side experimentally.

  The stallion’s muscles twitched beneath her hand. He seemed to exude a power equal to his master’s. Yet Thunder calmed and whinnied when she lengthened the caress. Her fingers traced a slow pattern over the animal’s smooth, shiny coat, and she lost herself in the pleasure of the moment.

  Like a clever thief, William appeared at her side. She looked up, startled. Eyes the color of Satan’s dreams bore into hers, sending a rush of alarm to the base of her spine.

  “Most people fear him,” William murmured.

  Emma lifted her chin. “I am not most people.”

  “Evidently.”

  William’s large hands slid beneath her woolen mantle and locked around her waist. She was about to protest when he hoisted her onto Thunder’s back. Then he swung himself into the saddle behind her.

  She avoided his gaze. He was too close, too warm.

  “I prefer to walk,” she said.

  “Nonsense.” He prompted Thunder with his knightly spurs. The warhorse began to move.

  She frowned. “Do you make a habit of denying ladies’ requests?”

  “Not as a rule.”

  “I see,” she said, but she didn’t. Nor did she care at the moment.

  Her bridegroom was a stranger and an arrogant one at that. She would hold her tongue. He might think her rude, but her well of conversation had run dry. For the short ride home, she focused on the expansive countryside, where hill and dale lay abandoned by the morning mist.

  ****

  ’Twas the first moment he’d had to himself in over a sennight. William relaxed into a high-backed, oak chair and familiarized himself with his new surroundings. The lord’s solar was a warm space, brightened by a roaring fire and colorful tapestries. He would enjoy it in the years to come, as he would enjoy his wife.

  Lady Emma.

  His blood stirred at the thought of her. She had seemed a vision, a raven-haired temptress standing as proud and erect as the pagan stones that flanked her. Her violet eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth, even after he’d provoked her ire. And when she laid her dainty hand on Thunder’s flesh…

  William shuddered. How would it feel to be touched so? By her hand, by candlelight? Her caress would shame the pleasures of Heaven and ease
the torments of Hell.

  With a sudden grumble, he shifted in his chair. Was he a pip-squeak boy to harden at the mere thought of a maid? To imagine she possessed some angelic quality which could help him forget? No. ’Twas folly, madness. To bare one’s soul to a woman was to have it trod upon.

  At that moment, Robert breezed into the solar. “You look like the very Devil,” he said with a grin.

  William regarded his brother’s dimpled smile in stony silence.

  “Come now,” Robert prodded. “Leave off your black thoughts and admit you’re pleased. Your bride is as comely a maid as ever I’ve seen.”

  “She is that.”

  “And she seemed suitably demure when you brought her back.”

  “Demure, though apparently unwell.”

  Robert raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Upon our return, the lady pleaded illness and retired to her chamber,” William explained.

  “She looked well enough from where I stood.”

  “Quite.”

  “I suppose one can hardly blame her.”

  William crossed his arms and stared at his brother.

  “Really,” Robert continued, “between your fiery temper and that black monster of a horse, ’tis a wonder she didn’t sprint to the top of the highest tower.”

  William’s gaze slid to the fire which crackled and hissed in the grate. “She had no fear of Thunder.”

  “Ah,” said Robert, “then you’re the monster.”

  William ripped his stare from the flames and leveled it at his brother. But a smile tugged at his lips. “Your support overwhelms me.”

  “As well it should,” said Robert. He crossed the room, claimed the chair next to William, and stretched out his legs. “This is a comfortable solar.”

  William nodded. “Equal to our brother’s, I dare say.”

  “Hugh may have inherited Seacrest, but he must still get a wife. You’re ahead of us both on that score.”

  William returned his attention to the massive fireplace.

  Robert cleared his throat. “While you were fetching your runaway bride, I picked up some new information.”

  “About?”

  “Lady Emma.”

  William looked up from the fire. “Well?”

  “There’s a ridiculous rumor circulating the keep about a curse,” Robert declared.

  Amusement tickled William’s lips. “Oh?”